


Written Passage

by leah_btw



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Carl Grimes & Mikey (friendship), Carl Grimes & Sam Anderson (friendship), M/M, Slow Build, Third Person Story | First Person Journal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leah_btw/pseuds/leah_btw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl found the journal in late November. It survived much like they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work under TWD fandom as well as my first piece on Ao3.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Carl found the journal in late November. The desk it was stored in held little else of interest. Leather bound with thick gold-lined pages, it was the most extravagant thing the teenage boy owned since he was twelve that wasn’t a weapon. At that age he would have scoffed at the mere thought of wanting it. Now, he kept it stored at the bottom of his singular pack. The thought of defending its presence was a constant. Carl was ready to claim it was for starting a fire or for mapping their supplies and trails. His father, Rick, would have patted him on the back, ignorant of any other reasoning. He would offer it when needed, not mentioning its existence until necessary.

In truth, Carl held onto the notebook for roughly six months. The small bound book didn’t have a single page torn out of it in that time. Despite the dwindling supplies and the need for fire-starter, Carl never offered up the journal. It survived much like they did.

Well into May, Carl, Rick, and the thirteen others were invited to Alexandria Safe-Zone. It was something of a pseudo-dream for Carl. He’d spent the last three years of his life in up-and-down settlements. A day full of interviews ensued. Questions upon questions were thrown Carl’s way. He answered honestly to Deanna and her camera. Sight of the camera reminded him of first finding the journal. A swelling of nostalgia for lives they all could have lived. It was a striking warmth in his sternum. In a flash it was gone, echoing across his lungs.

The home they were given finally allowed the comfort for Carl to write in his notebook. When he opened it the spine cracked stiffly. A standard business pen was in his right hand, consistently clicking it open and closed.

_______________________

May

I can only assume the date right now. It doesn’t really matter, I guess, since I’ll be the only one reading this. Anyway, just for shits, my name is Carl Grimes. I’m about 15 at this point. The year is off, but I’m guessing the world ended about 3 years ago. I’m just guessing though. Walkers, zombies, biters, rotters, whatever you want to call them. I’m sure you’ve experienced them. They’re something we’ve all grown used to by now—“all” being my group. My group being about 15 people total. It used to be smaller, and then bigger, and then smaller, and here we are today.

We’ve been invited to a Safe-Zone called Alexandria. It’s comparable to life in the prison but brighter. Have you ever read a book where the people are “milling” about? That’s a real thing in Alexandria. Pretty soon I’ll be milling about, just you wait and see.

_______________________

Carl slams the notebook closed when he hears footsteps outside of his doorway—his; it had been so long since he’d official owned something. It’s Michonne, standing tall in the entryway. She looks mildly uncomfortable without her katana on her back. She shifts in a way that suggests it’s still there, habit not being lost simply because the weapon is gone. In her arms is a squirming Judith. There’s a sippy cup full of water gripped in her pudgy hands.

“Your dad wants to see you, Carl.”

“Okay, he downstairs?”

“In the kitchen.”

Michonne ventures farther down the hallway after their brief conversation. Judith gurgles happily as they go; Michonne whispers nothings to her, nudging her finger into the small girl’s stomach. Carl hears the tiny echoes of her baby giggles.

The teen sighs deeply as he stands from the wooden desk he had been hunched over. It’s next to the door, placed there only if it needs to be shoved in the way to block intruders—dead or otherwise. He shoves the notebook into a pocket of his newly-given blue jacket. The book is just small enough to have to the clasp snap close over top of it.

He doesn’t bother to close the door behind him.

_______________________

May

Dad says I’ll be meeting some kids my age today. He doesn’t know all their names but he mentioned a Sam and a Ron. They sound alright. Weak, maybe, unsure of what’s really happening out there. Maybe they don’t even want to know what’s happening out there. I can’t say I blame them. I don’t even remember—well, anything about hanging out with people my age. I was in middle school before the walkers started and Sophia and Beth are long and distant memories. Can I even count Noah? What’s even considered “cool” anymore? “Yeah, my knife skills are pretty great. I haven’t died yet.” That should win them over.

_______________________

Carl and his father leave the house around mid-afternoon, showered and dressed better than they have in years. They pass Daryl and Carol on the porch. They’re closely talking in hushed tones. Daryl is still wearing his tattered vest, wings darkened with dirt; Carol has a button up blouse under a soft sweater. Cream and pastels colors never survived long beyond the walls. Carl thinks perhaps this is what she look liked before—when Sophia was still alive.

It’s strange to see how some members of the group are treating sanctuary. Some are treating it like captivation, others like a haven into normality.

A strong hand is clapped onto his shoulder as he passes. Daryl is giving Carl a grim look through his bangs. It’s a look not unlike the one he gives near-death-experience survivors.

 

Carl meets Sam Anderson first. He’s younger, about ten or eleven. Rick then introduces Jessie, Sam’s mother. She’s blonde and smells of burning metal, though different from the burning of a gunshot. The teen can instantly sense an underlying tension from his dad about Jessie. Carl doesn’t mind her much after the initial introduction. She’s got potential to be strong for her family. Carl notes they don’t meet Jessie’s husband. The set of Rick’s shoulders gives all the information about Pete Anderson that Carl needed.

The Anderson house isn’t much different than the two Carl’s group were given. Walls painted a pale yellow and floors covered in light wood, every room feels larger than it actually is. Every window is uncovered and some are opened partway. The breeze isn’t harsh, but every few minutes a gust blows strongly into the mesh screen. Jessie offers baked cookies, peanut butter by the smell. Carl can’t help but accept the two she insists he have. His smile is less polite and more genuine from that point onward.

Jessie then calls up the stairwell. A few thuds sound afterward.

“What?” It’s distinctly male. The voice doesn’t leave the top most level of the house.

“Come here for a sec?”

“Why?”

“Rick’s son, Carl, is here.” Jessie’s voice is strangely passive, calm in a manner that Carl hasn’t heard since Ed Peletier, Carol’s husband. In context Carl only knew it as someone talking down an oncoming fight.

“Can’t you just send him up?”

Jessie sighs, wringing a dish towel in her thin calloused hands. A shaky hand comes to scrub strongly on her temple, eyes closed. Rick comes up behind her, hesitantly rubbing between her shoulder blades with both hands. Carl can’t help but notice how pale Jessie looks compared to his father. Sun and dirt are ingrained into his skin, like with Carl. It’s something that couldn’t be ground out with a bar of ivory soap. The teen has tried.

“His room is the middle door,” Jessie finally says after a period of silence. Carl looks to Rick. For once the older man isn’t paying attention, focus given to the petite woman in front of them both.

“I’ll take you up,” Sam pipes in awkwardly from beside Carl. The teen nods down at him, noting the blueness of his eyes. He scruffs the back of the kid’s bowl cut before following him to the stairs. Rick and Jessie immediately begin whispering behind them.

He’s lead up the staircase to the top landing. There Sam branches off, standing nervously beside the middle doorway. It’s cracked open just a bit, a few voices seeping through.

“Ron?”

The door is whipped open further, revealing the older sibling. Carl would put him a few years older than himself. There’s a strength in his jaw, tense as it is. The muscle in it jumps as he looks between Carl and Sam. His eyes are a darker hazel than his mother’s. They suit him, despite the look of disdain. Carl shakes off the thought immediately.

Behind Ron’s shoulder, Carl can see another two other clean faces: one boy and one girl. He scratches the back of his head uncomfortably. They are all staring at one another now.

“Carl,” he says as an introduction for himself.

“Ron,” the other boy responds before shifting a shoulder backwards a bit. He points to a person behind him, an unremarkable looking boy, “Mikey.” Ron turns again to point towards the girl, “Enid.”

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Mikey says back. Enid says nothing, only glances once more before turning to a comic book she has in hand. The two are sprawled on a twin bed, feet to each other’s heads. They had sat up to look at Carl.

“Are you coming in or no?” Ron asks, face quirked rudely.

Carl doesn’t deign him with a response. He gives a look back to Ron before shoving as nicely between his shoulder and the doorway as he can. When their arms brush, their eyes also meet. There’s edge in the air for too long before Ron flinches back into the room completely. Carl doesn’t know how to respond to that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little shorter than the first, due to pacing, but I think it's alright!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 _______________________

May

It’s weird to hang out. Not just in general, but with other people. I met four people—three and half? The half is a kid, about ten. His name is Sam. He’s alright. He has a brother Ron (who, I’ve gotta say, is a strong headed asshole). Through him I met Enid and Mikey. Mikey reminds me of a friend from before all this. I feel bad that that makes me not want to be friends with him. Enid is cool. She’s from over the wall too. I caught her going over it one night. I think maybe she doesn’t want to get close to anyone. That’s just a guess since she won’t talk seriously to anyone.

 I’ve read more comic books in the last two hours than I have in the last year and half. Same with cookies. Jessie makes a mean peanut butter batch.

 _______________________

 

Carl spends most of his newly found freedom at the Anderson house. There’s an ease about being there. It’s different than the stifling silence of their two given houses.

Carl can smile here.

 _______________________

May

Dad says they’re weak. I know, but I can’t help but think they could learn. We could teach them. We could help them make this place more secure. They’re so lucky and they don’t even realize it. Dad has taken a special interest in Jessie and Pete’s relationship. Michonne and I pretend we don’t notice.

 I’ve grown to like Mikey. He’s funny in a way, and trustworthy. He doesn’t ask about over the wall and I don’t tell him anything. Sam is good too. He’s a little punk of a kid. I think I’m his first real friend. Enid is—I’m working on that situation. Ron is still a dick but at least he doesn’t glare as much. He tries to pick fights way too often for someone in the apocalypse. ~~Ron is~~ ~~Ron sometimes~~ Nevermind.

 _______________________

 

Enid is at the house most of the time, too, quiet and a desperate kind of anonymous. Four days after Carl and his group arrived, Mikey confided that Enid doesn’t really like being here. Ron had grunted in agreement before suddenly defending that she likes it just fine. Enid was over the wall that night, making Ron’s argument completely moot.

Carl leaves later than usual the next night. Enid was MIA again. They all pretended not to be worried.

He, Mikey, and Sam had been caught in a loop of games of Sorry. Ron had given up early on, huffing that it was a stupid game. Carl had laughed unabashedly at that. Sam unsteadily joined in. Ron didn’t swat either of them like he would have done two days prior. Instead he stares at them both, hazel eyes somehow lighter than before. Carl looks away before it gets strange; his smile is still stuck on his lips.

Mikey starts home about five minutes before Carl does, going in the opposite direction. He waves from the porch through the front door window before bounding into the darkening night. Carl take his time lacing up his boots, knotting them tightly. While he has never stopped strapping his knife to his belt, Carl has given in to the comfort of taking off his shoes.

It’s as the teen is standing to go, arm outstretched to grab his jacket from the back of a dining chair, that he first sees Pete Anderson. Taller than Carl by a solid foot with hooded eyes and a mess of blonde hair, Pete looks like a force to be reckoned with. He’s stumbling through the front door, bottle in hand. He forgets to close it behind him.

“Jessie!” comes a brutal shout, mangled from a drunken tongue.

Pete hasn’t noticed Carl yet. He diverts to the kitchen, passing the three boys all silently standing in the dining room.

“Carl—”

“You have to leave,” Ron interrupts Sam with a shove to Carl’s back. The door doesn’t slam behind him; Carl can barely hear the click of the latch.

It’s halfway through his walk home that Carl notices he forgot his blue jacket. He remembers panicked hazel eyes instead.

 

There’s a few pages near the back of the book with writing. Carl doesn’t date them. He doesn’t even admit to himself that he’s doing it. He keeps tally of the times he’s caught Ron staring at him.

_______________________

Caught Ron:

~~IIII~~ ~~IIII~~ ~~IIII~~ ~~IIII~~ ~~IIII~~ ~~IIII~~ I

_______________________

And a personally tally of the times Ron has caught him.

_______________________

Caught by Ron:

~~IIII~~ ~~IIII~~ I

_______________________

He doesn’t know what it means. It feels slightly like a mission. Something to do when the days start to blur together. He’d meant to add four and one more to the respective lists when he got back to the house. Instead he draws them onto the backs of his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update sometime next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and Kudos! I'm a nervous egg, so while I don't reply to many (or any) comments, they are appreciated and loved!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Carl is hesitant to go back to the Anderson house for a day afterward. He fears that Ron will be as closed off as when they first met. He spends the day with Judith instead, watching Carol bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies and preps a casserole. The teen suspects it’s green bean and ham. He makes a face into Judith’s thin hair, blowing a small raspberry to get her to giggle.

Carol laughs with her, setting the casserole aside and beginning to pack up the remaining ingredients. The dirty dishes are placed in the sink with a clunk; Carol knows he’ll be washing them later if the meaningful look in Carol’s eyes is anything to go by. He grins at her ruefully from behind Judith, pressing the smile into her crown.

A knock on the door makes them both pause. It’s a cursory action for them, survival tactic. Carl relaxes before Carol does. The ring of the plastic timer shocks them once again.

“Can you get that?” Carol asks as she pulls on an oven mitt.

“Yeah.”

He sets Judith in her baby pen in the living room as he passes through. She only whines a little at the detachment. Just as another knock is sounding, Carl opens the door enough to look at who’s there. He opens it all the way when he sees who it is.

Ron’s sporting a bruise across his left cheek. It’s a dark purple, turning almost black at the high point. Carl can tell it’s at least a day old now. Despite the mark on his face, Ron looks as he usually does. He’s on day two of his showering cycle like Carl is. His dark beanie is covering the greasy roots and showing only the flip side of his bangs. He’s matching tan pants with his jean jacket and gray shirt. Carl can just see the collar of starched white undershirt. It’s strangely relieving to see Ron is alright.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

Ron looks up from staring at his shoes, hazel eyes burning dark. The smirk falls a bit flat, partially a grimace. It’s straining at the left corner. Something heavy and hot settles deep in Carl’s gut. He can barely realize that it’s anger, frustration, protectiveness—all three rolled into one warmth in his midsection. He shifts his stance to hide the sudden revelation.

When Ron only stares, Carl tries again, “Hey, you good?”

That shakes the other teen out of his look, a real smile pulling at the edges, “Yeah, man, I’m good.” He holds out his arm, a jacket in hand. “Left this at my place last night.” Ron doesn’t add any further explanation about what happened and Carl doesn’t ask.

He accepts his jacket with a, “Cool, thanks,” not offering his realization of forgetting it as he walked home. The idea of going back to the Anderson house to retrieve it hadn’t even been an option.

They stand there in silence for a few moments, Carl having flung the jacket over a shoulder. He shoves his hands in his pockets simply for something to do. Ron mirrors the actions before swinging bodily onto his heels. A step back is emphasized by an almost silent, “Well, um.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ll see you—” Carl interrupts with mild uncertainty.

“Tomorrow, right. Er,” Ron goes to scratch his head only to remember his beanie. He leaves his hand there regardless and steps back another step. “I—Sam was missing you today, so.” Ron laughs awkwardly. “Enid is waiting for me actually, gotta hit the street.”

“Sure, yeah, see you tomorrow.” Carl closes the door just as Ron is turning around. He sees Ron turn back a moment, hand in the air. It looks as if he’s going to say something. A shake of the head is all Carl sees before the other teen abruptly turns again. Carl doesn’t miss the curse the Ron throws under his breath. It absolutely doesn’t put a smile on his face. No way.

 

That night Carl sets up a few candles on his desk to write a bit. They’re a mix of teakwood and vanilla; Rosita let him borrow them for the night. He pulls the leather book from his jacket pocket and sets it on his desk. Finding a pen is only a minor struggle. He had accidentally let Rick use the original to write up schematics and never got it back. He finds another one quickly. This one is blue inked for some local plumbing company. Carl vaguely remembers when Heath and Glenn picked up a few supplies from it.

When he cracks the book open, however, on the next page he finds an entry that is not his own. It’s a scratchy print with sharp ends.

 

_______________________

June 3rd

I’m not a dick, shut up, Carl.

Ron

 _______________________

 

June

 So maybe Ron isn’t a dick. (His dad certainly is though. But I won’t get into that.) I think Enid and Ron are dating. Mikey’s never said anything. I’ll ask him next time I see him. Ron just gets a look when he mentions her to me. Whatever.

 Carol made bean casserole and it wasn’t the most horrible thing I’ve ever eaten. Her chocolate chip cookies saved the day. Eugene claimed the ratio of ham to beans was exactly as he preferred it. I guess I agree with him on that point. Glenn had three servings. Maggie smacked him upside the head when she realized.

 Dad’s been with Deanna (she’s the leader of Alexandria) and Jessie most nights. I’ve heard him and Michonne talking about Ron’s dad a lot lately too.

 _______________________

 

Carl makes sure to add the new tallies in the back before going to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update might be slowly coming; it's Finals Week here. Perhaps near the end of the week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Carl & Mikey friendship is giving me life, okay?
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Ron’s been weird the entirety of the next day. Carl never broaches the subject of the bruise on his cheek and Ron never offers an answer. It’s clearly a sore spot, no pun intended. Mikey doesn’t even mention it when he tumbles into Ron’s room later than usual. Carl’s sitting on the floor leaning against the bed. Sam’s by his side, comic book in hand while Enid takes the bed for herself. Ron’s in the window seat. He’s got an earbud in, but he and Enid are talking across the room. Mikey nudges up next to Enid on the bed. She grumbles a bit, but eventually gives him the other half. The group settles for several hours in pseudo-silence.

Carl doesn’t think Ron’s new attitude is about his dad though. Carl can think of vague moments when he first started hanging out when Ron would favor his sides or joke carelessly about being able to take a hit. It seems his dad isn’t as much an issue as he is an annoyance. That idea sits heavy in Carl’s chest and is sharp against his sternum.

Ron and Enid are being weird, regardless. Not like usual with their inside jokes and disappearing acts that leaves Carl, Mikey, and Sam alone in the Anderson dining room for the night. They’re tense. Enid keeps emphasizing certain words when she talks. Any response she gets is equally loaded. Even Sam asks about it quietly behind a book. Sam’s as dense as any other ten year old, which is to say, very. Carl only shrugs before prompting him back to the comic they are reading.

The air only grows heavier when Enid states, “You’re being _stupid_.” Her tone has a finality to it; an argument has been completed. Mikey snorts loudly before going completely quiet.

Carl glances back at Enid, neck straining. She’s sitting up and has her arms propped back. There’s coloring to her cheeks akin to a frustrated pink. Her wide lips are pulling down into a scowl. A matching glint is in her eyes too, covered only slightly by a wave of her brown hair. When Carl finally looks over at Ron, he sees a look being closed off. It’s a flash of furiosity and befuddlement. It’s knocked off Ron’s face as he settles deeper into the window alcove.

“Shut up,” is his only response. Looking beyond him, Carl notices how dark it’s gotten. He’s been at the Anderson house since a little after dinner. Carol had made him do a few errands before heading over.

Mikey sits up all the way after that, shutting his book. “I gotta start headin’ back. Ma will be peaked if she knows I’ve been lazin’ around all day. I was supposeda be doin’ chores.”

Ron gives an ugly laugh at that, “See you later?”

Mikey chucks a pillow at him sloppily for laughing. “Yeah, be around tomorrow.”

It’s as the other boy is making his way through the doorway that Carl decides, “Hey, Mikey, I’ll go with you. My dad probably doesn’t want me out any later.”

Sam gives a quiet goodbye as Carl stands. He closes the comic with a finger as a marker. Carl knows the kid won’t read on until they’re together again tomorrow afternoon. Enid says “See you tomorrow” in a tone that suggests she’s only saying it to be nice. Carl knows she goes over the wall every Thursday, tomorrow won’t be any different. She meets his gaze though, something warm beneath the surface; Carl accepts the lie for what it is.

“Yeah.”

Ron glances over at that. His eyes are half in shadow, the moonlight behind him glowing brightly. Carl must being imagining the small smile on his lips. He blinks consecutively to find the same conclusion before him. Ron’s smiling, one of his cheeks dimpled. At him.

“See you tomorrow, Carl.”

His heart thumps heavily against his ribcage. There’s a burning at the back of throat that he clears hastily.

“Yeah, uh, yeah, Ron” Carl picks up his hat from the floor. Dumping it low on his head is a diversion tactic from the rush of heat that’s flooding his cheeks. “See you tomorrow.”

He and Mikey make their way downstairs, shoving their shoes on in the dining room. If Carl’s hands are shaking, Mikey doesn’t mention it. They call out to Jessie in the living room to say they’re leaving. She shouts back a response telling them to get home careful. Mikey laughs like a skittish animal.

Mikey starts his way to the left as Carl is pulling his sleeve on and closing the door at the same time.

“Hey, Mikey!”

“Hm?” said boy turns around, walking backwards for a moment. He stops and waits for Carl to descend the porch stairs. The sudden change in lighting makes Carl squint into the darkness. Mikey has started walking again while facing Carl, seemingly not minding where he’s going.

“Can I ask you something?”

The other boy looks skeptical for a moment. “Uh, yeah, can we walk though? My ma really will have my ear if I don’t start headin’ back.”

Even though it’s in the opposite direction, Carl follows the boy a ways. It’s only a few more steps into their walk that Carl’s companion turns back around and matches his pace.

Mikey lives near Deanna, close to the main entrance. Carl has never been over but once or twice he and Ron picked him up. His house looks much like everyone else’s: two stories, pale siding, and a small porch. His mother, Paula, has an affinity for gardening however. Their lawn is overrun with different colors of tulips, wildflowers, and roses. She’s also responsible for some of the vegetable growth for the Zone. Carl likes to think she’s the type of woman to hand out peanut butter crackers or apples for Halloween.

“What d’you wanna ask?” Mikey finally questions after half of their walk. He sounds amused and that makes Carl pause for a few more steps.

“Uh, man, this is going to sound ridiculous—”

“As ridiculous as Enid is a big puffy dress or somethin’?”

Carl laughs at the thought. Enid wouldn’t be caught dead—That thought cuts off immediately. “Nah, but speaking of Enid, are she and Ron together?”

“Together?” Mikey makes a coughing noise to that, barely hiding his laugh.

“Like,” Carl grasps for the right word. He remembers something Beth used to say when describing Maggie and Glenn, “exclusive?”

Mikey stops and throws his head back, laughter loud and echoing. Down the road a bit, Carl can see a porch light flicker on. He shoves Mikey’s jacket clad shoulder harshly, knocking him to the side. His laughs die off into huffy breaths.

“Oh, m’God! That’s not at all what I though ye were gonna ask,” Mikey shakes his shoulders through another chuckle.

Carl gives an awkward sound back, a mix between humor and bemusement.

“I was sure you were gonna ask about his dad, which, yeah, it’s been goin’ on for a while now. No one’s sayin’ anythin’ though.” Mikey pauses in his small speech. “Ron and Enid ain’t ‘exclusive’, no. Not in the way you thinkin’. Enid doesn’t really get close to anybody, not on purpose anyway. I’m sure you noticed that.”

Carl nods. Enid has stuck close to her guns, so to speak. They’ve gotten to know each other through similarities only so far but Carl has been attempting friendship. Enid has given him an ally instead.

“Why?”

The question sticks to Carl’s mind. Why? He knows why, in theory, it is he cares. The obvious being any awkward unknowns in the group— _his_ group, his new small group of five. It can cause tensions later, distrust and wavering ideals. Less obviously is because it leaves a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. It settles heavy and hot in Carl’s abdomen like a gunshot to the chest – something he is undoubtedly familiar with. He missteps, nearly tripping forward. The words fumble out. They sound like an excuse before they even form.

“I just—I don’t know—it, um—”

The gunshot that interrupts him is both a relief and a point of confusion. Carl feels it echo through his body, a phantom pain. Mikey drops to ground into a crouch. He’s not shaking, though he seems unsettled. Looking at Carl in poorly disguised fear, he asks, “What was that?”

“Gunshot.”

“Gunshot? No one can have guns inside the walls!” Mikey’s using Carl’s shoulder as something to lean on as he stands back up. Porchlights flicker on around them. Mikey’s house is only three houses down. Carl pushes Mikey towards it when he sees Paula step out the front door. When she catches sight of them, she pulls her robe tight and hustles down the steps.  

“Michael Nicolas!” she shouts, puttering around the two boys. She barely even seems to notice Carl in her panic. Mikey is dragged to his house, his mother shouting for his father.

“Carl!”

He looks up when Mikey calls his name. He’s pointing towards Deanna’s place. There’s a light on in the back. Mikey’s at a different angle to it than Carl. He sees something that Carl can’t. He looks back at Mikey, taking a few steps towards him to better see his face. It’s contorted, tears forming, frustration set in his brow. That all breaks when his brown eyes flit back to Carl. Mikey nods, sure and strong; the message is clear for Carl: “Go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update next week, sometime!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this part is a little short, due to writing another piece as well as keeping up with this one. Oh well!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Carl turns, places a hand to his waist where his knife is strapped to his belt, and runs. One arm pumps at his side. His hair whips at his ears under his hat. He’d only been wearing it to protect him from the sun early in the day. Now it hinders him, bumping low on his forehead. Deanna’s house is in his sight the entire time, only getting closer and closer. With that comes the noises; Carl hears shouts, sobs, muffled conversation. He jumps a bit to avoid tripping over the curb, cutting across the grass soon after to hit the small pathway. It leads straight into Deanna’s backyard.

There are figures in the back enclosure. Eugene, Rosita, and Michonne are a few that Carl sees right off the bat. Then Carl sees Rick, wanting to go to his father’s side immediately. Carol is there though, a hand raised to Rick’s shoulder. They’re stiff, seemingly stuck in the position they’re in. One arm is raised with a gun when Carl finally gets a closer look at his father. His fur-lined jacket is darkened with blood and sweat. It matches the splatters across his unshaven face and the harsh look in his eyes. The small butterfly stitches are barely visible. The blood doesn’t seem to be from someone living. It’s clotted and browning; Carl doesn’t know how his dad could have walker blood on him.

_______________________ 

 

June

At the time it didn’t make a lot of sense. It still doesn’t really make sense. A walker had been let in when the front gate wasn’t being guarded. Dad killed it. Stab to the head, not that it matters.

 

_______________________ 

There’s two bodies on the ground. One is Reg. Red surrounds his greying head. Carl sees the source as a slice across his neck. It’s both clean and messy at the same time. Whoever killed him did it quick but not precise.

Blood still dribbles out of the corners of Reg’s mouth and down his cheeks. His eyes are slits but open, a dead light blue staring upward in shock through his glasses. He’s in Deanna’s arms. Carl sees the hardened look in her tear muddled eyes.

The other is Pete. His temple is blown open and Abraham is standing awkwardly above him. His arms are covered in splattered blood, stuck to the thick red hairs easily. He runs one hand through his army cut hair. In Pete’s hand is Michonne’s katana, dripping blood onto the pavement slowly.

 _______________________ 

 

I could only think how Mikey must have seen it when his mom was dragging him to his house.

My dad shot Ron and Sam’s dad. He shot Jessie’s husband. I don’t even feel—what’s the word? Father Gabriel says it when he does sermons— _remorseful_. I’m not sad that Pete died. I’m sad that Ron lost his dad. Even if he had been a complete douchebag.

 

_______________________ 

The events following are sporadic. Someone in the crowd starts sobbing loudly in the new silence. It muffles when a woman’s head is pressed to the shoulder of another. Deanna lays Reg’s head carefully onto the pavement, being sure to close his eyes completely. There are tears flooding her face now. They trek slowly down her cheeks. A small stalactite on her chin forms and collapses into the air below.

Carl’s still watching from the entrance to the back enclosure. When his father finally glances his way, it’s like he’s not seeing him. There’s a darkness to his eyes that Carl has only seen a select number of times. Shane had had the same look for a long time; a haunted, protective sharpness that verged on unsettling and predatory. Carl wished he did not recognize it.

“It had to be done.” Deanna’s voice is like acid on a wound. It burns into the crevices of the crowd, hitting at unsuspecting injuries. Another sobs echoes into hands. Deanna stands slowly, bloody hands shaking at her sides. “We all know what he was doing to Jessie and those boys.”

_______________________ 

 

Deanna argued for my dad. I don’t think anyone dared to go against her. Dad was becoming something of a martyr—another word Father Gabriel would preach. I don’t know if I believed Deanna. Rick Grimes, a martyr? I think I could even laugh at that.

_______________________ 

Carl hears footsteps approaching from behind him. He didn’t look, the recognition in his own father’s eyes enough to know they aren’t a threat. One of the footsteps is heavier. Something thuds onto a calf with a dull metallic noise.  Carl recognizes it as Daryl. He only allows his footsteps to be heard when they’re on safe grounds.

Rick finally sees him. Carl can barely hold his dad’s gaze beneath all the blood. It reminds him of the men on the highway; the skin in his father’s teeth and the fear in his own pounding heart. Carl hasn’t cried that much since.

“Rick,” Morgan says from behind Carl. His voice isn’t bewildered or angry or shocked. It’s plain, spoken by a man that expected nothing less of Rick. It’s pained, almost disappointed. It’s edging closely to underlying pity.

One of Rick’s shoulders droops and drags, flagging back upward soon after. His stance shifts slightly too, to glance around himself at the others. He opens his mouth as if to say something.

Carl turns and runs before he gets the chance.

 _______________________ 

  ~~I want to go see Ron.~~

_______________________ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update should be due in about a week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit early than I anticipated, but hopefully worth the small wait. Also, thank you so much for the Comments and Kudos! They mean a lot!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Carol suggests Carl remain distant from the Anderson family for a few days. Ron is—well, Carol was told he was taking his father’s murder exactly as everyone expected. Carl understands that he may need his space. He hunkers down in their house for as long as he can. There’s a buzzing under his own skin that makes him jittery and impatient regardless.

Rick and Jessie have intense hushed conversations every time she’s over. She visits for three nights after Pete’s death.

“—murderer, Jessie. We don’t bury those kind here—” Rick faux whispers one night. They’re in the living room, a candle burning on a side table.

“And I’m not asking you to, Rick!” Carl can hear the strain in her voice. He wishes he wasn’t familiar with how Jessie’s voice sounds after she’s cried.

“Then what are you asking of me?” His father doesn’t pretend to stay quiet. The house settles around them. Carl’s in the stairwell, Judith nodding off against his shoulder. There’s a lukewarm glass of orange juice in one of his hands. He hears his father sigh, the rough sound of his calluses scratching his jawline.

“Just—” Carl’s eyes drop to the step below him when Jessie’s voice breaks. There’s a hesitation. “Just, for Sam and for Ron, just bury him _somewhere_. He wasn’t much and sure doesn’t deserve much, but for them, bury that piece of shit.”

  _______________________ 

 

June

We buried Pete today. Dad dug the grave after Deanna told him to dig it extra deep. Something about not wanting it to be dug up again. I guess she’s right. Hardly anyone showed up, just me and Dad, and Father Gabriel and Deanna, and Jessie and Sam. That’s more than I thought there would be.

I don’t know where Ron is, Enid’s avoiding me, and Mikey’s mom won’t let me talk to him. When I asked Sam how he was doing afterward, he shrugged. I asked him about Ron too. I don’t think I was subtle. Sam said he was busy.

Nobody said any words for Pete.

 

_______________________ 

Carl spends his newly freed afternoons following the burial carrying Judith around Alexandria. He visits Denice mostly. Fiddling with her tombs-for-textbooks and through all of the glass shelves proves to waste daylight. More so than bothering Olivia at the pantry and definitely more than hassling Sasha while she’s on guard duty. Denice is good with Judith, too, letting her play with ruffled cotton balls and popsicle sticks. Carl’s thinks she might be lonely, simply waiting for people to get injured to come see her.

He writes mostly. Pages fill in the leather-bound journal.

 _______________________ 

 

June

The days feel a lot longer now. There’s nothing to look forward to. Sam is probably still marking that comic page with his thumb. Mikey is probably arguing with his mother about chores and friendships. Deanna is probably—Michonne is probably—Carol is probably—Dad is probably—Everyone is _probably_.

Ron is probably.

_______________________ 

His blue pen gets briefly traded for a green one when it dies. This is quickly replaced by a purple one. He won’t deny the few and far between drawings of flowers, nor the scribblings that Judith giggled all the way through creating. Carl signs them for her like they’re bonafide artwork.

Annie is dragged in partways through the sixth day of radio silence from Ron and Sam. She’s a small woman, dark haired and quick witted. Carl likes her well enough. Rosita spends some evenings with her and Tara, being the only girls of their age in the Zone. She’s away often with Heath and Tobin. Seems their last run went a little south. There’s sweat on her brow, puffing breaths exhaled in sync with Tobin beside her. Heath is on their heels carrying bundles of clean cloth. Blood pools into Annie’s button up below her right breast.

“Carl—”

He’s nodding before the request leaves Denice’s lips. She gives him an appreciative look as he stumbles around her and the trio. Scooping up Judith from the bed, he hauls her onto his hip carefully. He just remembers to grab his jacket from hook by the door. It swings on its hinges loudly, clanging sharply against the jam. Judith gargles.

He plops her on the porch bench, letting her play with her toes for a moment. The sleeves of his jacket are a small refuge against the cool early summer winds. Carl tugs Judith’s sweater from his pocket. She huffs when her arms are forced into confinement.

They leave just as Annie starts muffling her screams.

 

Mikey is seated on the grass near the small pond in the middle of Alexandria. The grass around him is in disarray. Clumps are pulled up and yanked to pieces. His brown eyes are searching the clear water in front of him. Carl can see the dirt under his nails and in the creases of his skin.

“Hey,” he says as Carl approaches from the right.

No point beating around the bush, “How’re Ron and Sam?”

Mikey squints up at him. “Bad.”

This is emphasized by the shallow sound of grass being torn from the soil.

“I figured—”

“Ron’s a mess, man. Won’t even talk to Enid.”

Carl decides to keep quiet. Settling himself and Judith next to Mikey, he hands his sister a small dandelion as a distraction.

Mikey continues, “Sorry ‘bout my mom, too. She’s going bonkers right now, tryin’ to figure out what your dad’s up to. Didn’t like their dad much myself – who could – but we just ain’t used to killing the living around here.”

They stare across the water for a long time. It’s only broken by Judith’s giggling and attempts to eat the flower in her pudgy hand. Carl would have laughed at any other time.

“It’s not really something you get,” Carl struggles for a moment, “ _used to_.”

“Yeah.” Carl can see Mikey nodding in his peripheral as he drags the flower from Judith. She grasps her hands out, giving a universal sign to give it back. He senses the other boy looking at him. “Did you know?”

The question pulls Carl short. He gives Judith the dandelion. Most of the seeds are gone anyway. It isn’t going to hurt if she eats it.

“Did I know? What—that my dad was going to kill Ron’s?” His tone is an almost assessment, both questioning his friend and himself. Did he know? He’d noticed his dad’s interest in the Jessie and Pete’s marital struggles. The defensive stance that Rick had assumed when it concerned the Anderson family’s safety. Carl supposes that somewhere in the back of his mind that—“Yeah, I think so, maybe.”

They pause at that. Mikey rips out more grass, brown soil flinging onto his bare legs. It catches in his leg hair. Carl can hear an unspoken questions from him, a testament to their friendship perhaps.

“I don’t know—” Judith spits out a clump of wet fluff. Carl brushes it from her chin and continues, “I don’t know how I feel about how my dad handled it.”

Mikey watches him shrug and stare out into the open landscape. He nods. “You should go talk to Ron.”

“Why?”

The plain boy gives a matching shrug, “I think he needs to hear that from you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming for another post early next week :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update as well as for the sudden chapter ending and the small break I'll be taking (just until Sunday) as I'll be going to a concert on Saturday :) I have a bit prepared for the next chapter so perhaps an update later next week.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

June

Mikey told me to go see Ron. I’m— _scared_ isn’t the right word. Beth could probably describe this perfectly. She knew so many words. Michonne might label it _worried_ and Father Gabriel would say _uneasy_ and dad might call it _stupidity_. All synonyms for the same meaning. All I know is that ~~I miss him~~ it feels like the wind has been knocked out of me.

I’ll go see him tomorrow. Carol is making a roast of squirrel and rabbit with roots. Daryl had come with a haul earlier today. I don’t want to ruin everyone’s excitement with my ~~relationship~~ problems.

 _______________________ 

 

Sam stops by in the morning unprompted and with stare as low as any. Carl catches him in the kitchen with Carol and a batch of fresh acorn cookies. He’s perched on high stool against the island counter facing Carol. There’s a small plate in front of him, cookie in hand. His sneakers are off and the striped polo shirt he’s wearing has dirt stains across the back.

“Hey, Sam,” Carl nods.

After munching on a bite, Sam says, “Hi, Carl.”

Carl looks questioningly at Carol. She snapping closed Tupperware with quick fingers, each is filled with four or five cookies. There’s a bag near the end of the counter standing on its own. When she meets Carl’s gaze, she shrugs and dons her stern motherly voice, “Sam, tell Carl why you’re here.”

The kid’s throat bobs and he sets his half eaten cookie down carefully. His doe eyes are staring at Carol now, almost asking her why he’s here again. The older woman tilts her head to the side, looks away, and starts packing up the bag. That seems to be enough for Sam.

“I—Ron is—” He starts picking at the edges of his treat. “Mom thinks that maybe you should go talk to Ron.”

“Yeah?” Carl doesn’t tell Sam that he was planning to anyway. If Jessie wants him to then Ron must be worse off than Mikey said. “Why?”

“Well, I dunno, she just thinks that maybe,” when a piece of his cookies tumbles off his saucer, Sam snatches his hand back and rubs it to his pant-leg. He starts again, “Ron likes you best.”

Carl’s heart thuds roughly against his ribs. He shifts his hat from one hand to another before asking, “What?”

Sam’s eyes are heavy but certain as he repeats himself, “He likes you best.”

 

Carl’s heart is strumming in his chest. It hadn’t stopped since he left Sam and Carol, no excuse necessary. It’s a feeling not unlike going against three or four walkers alone with only his knife. Walkers might actually be a blessing right now; at least then he wouldn’t have to feel the dampness of his palms or the dryness of his throat. Those could become background noise in the larger scheme of things.

_He likes you best_ keeps ringing in his ears. They leave a hollow, desperate weight somewhere in his chest. Carl’s heart fills it every millisecond it beats but it’s still there when he takes each unsteady breath.

Despite this, the teen stands at the stoop of the Anderson house at midday. Sunshine filters through the slats of the porch in stripes of yellow. Birds chirp loudly, mating calls and yells of discomfort. The world is settled around him. If only it would lend that calm over to him.

Carl nervously removes his hat, shoving a hand deftly through his too long hair. Sweat runs through his fingers and down the back of his hand. He hasn’t knocked yet. Somehow he’s caught up on the sweat stains of his shirt and the mud splatters on the knees of his jeans. Carl can only hope that his plaid over-shirt covers the brunt of the sweat. Patting the caked dirt on his pants proves to be futile.

He can still head back to the house. Heath found some sand toys on his last run, the one Annie came home injured on. A basic bucket, a small crab pan, and a sifting bowl were for Judith to play with. Carl could take her out near the gardens and mess about in the dirt. Eugene said something to Abraham about making bullets as well. Surely he needed help with that. Carl was free. Definitely free. He has no plans today at all.

“Carl?” Said boy starts, dropping his hat in the process. Jessie opened the door while he wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes are bright—akin to hopeful and wonderment.

“Uh,” Carl clears his throat. Hat having landed near Jessie’s feet, she picks it up and passes it over. “Hi, Mrs. Anderson—Jessie. Hi.”

The returning smile is weak but sincere. “What can I do you for?”

Flushing from his roots to the tip of his nose, Carl finally gets out, “Is Ron here?” He runs another hand across his scalp.

Jessie’s smile is winning, stretching from end to end and flashing molars. It’s the brightest he’s ever seen her. Open and clear and not an ounce of the fear she used to hold so close. It slides deep into the crevices of Carl’s ribs and brushes against his heart. A secondary hole he hadn’t realized was suddenly filled. Pete was gone and Jessie was happy. Her children were safe and it wasn’t temporary this time.

“He’s in the garage.” She opens the doorway to let him pass. “You can go through the kitchen door.” The smile is less now, but still a sun of its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, this is nearing its end! I'm thinking another two chapters :) The goal was 10k!


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